


Take my Hand

by TheNextPage



Series: Declarations: Dasha re-imagined [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNextPage/pseuds/TheNextPage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As always, all credit goes to Niklovr, except if this is rubbish, in which case that's all on me.</p><p>I hope this is in some way, inspiring. I'm craving an update on Declarations! Please, and Thank You :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Take my Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [niklovr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niklovr/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Declarations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167479) by [niklovr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niklovr/pseuds/niklovr). 



> As always, all credit goes to Niklovr, except if this is rubbish, in which case that's all on me.
> 
> I hope this is in some way, inspiring. I'm craving an update on Declarations! Please, and Thank You :)

“This shit ain’t over”

“Better believe it.”

Daryl was seeing red. There was a healthy portion of him that wished Nash would...oh, he had plenty left-over emotion that he could happily re-direct towards this piece of filth.

He had breathed it out - the rage having stimulated him into a nervous mess – before Sasha emerged from the undergrowth.

“What’re you doing?”

And just like that, with that careless little question, Daryl found some of that lingering rage. 

“I’m about to ask ya the same shit.”

The exchange was heated but Sasha understood, by the time Daryl was grasping at her wrist, that there was more fear and bone-deep concern than actual anger. She could see the worry and trepidation that Daryl couldn’t put words to: he had lost too much, all too soon. The prison, his brother, Beth. He couldn’t lose her too.

“Better?”

She could have antagonised him further. She could have let fly on his behaviour: the tone of his voice, the assumption of his actions. But instead her gaze dropped to where their hands connected. Her fingers flexed against him, but she didn’t tug free. She remembered the lake: his shampooing her hair with that near-erotic head massage; the things he said, the way she felt...

“Was it Clay or Nash?”

“Nash,” he spat the name like a curse.

A pang of vulnerability shot through her, an unease unfamiliar to her – a hangover from the world before Walkers: she was scared because this was a clear violence that these men threatened, that had nothing to do with survival or a fight for scarce resources. 

“I didn’t hear him.”

The last shreds of his anger evaporated with her quiet admission. Even this kickass warrior-woman beside him still feared such horrific violence; she occasionally still needed someone to look out for her. Exhaling slowly, he kissed the back of her hand that he held in his – the most tender brush of his lips against her skin. It was impulsive but he hoped also comforting. More than anything, he hoped she didn’t mind. He saw the divot between her eyes smooth over slightly, her tight-lipped smile relaxing into something closer to a happy smirk. If he could wish the serenity back to her face, he would. Instead, he held her hand as they walked back to camp, gently rubbing small circles over her skin where his lips had been. That simple kindness and gentle intimacy didn’t undo the intrusion of the last twenty minutes, but it shored up her strength, and brought them a touch closer once more.


End file.
